The Mammoth and the Squirrel
by Morag I
Summary: His mate and calf slaughtered by hunters before his eyes, Manny, wounded in both body and soul cannot find the will to live on. Can a feisty impulsive young squirrel named Windy push him back onto his feet? One-Shot.


takes deep breath OKAYIDON'TOWNMANNYSEEINGASHEISTHEONLYTRUEICEAGECHARACTERMENTIONED,HEBELONGSTOBLUESKYANDBLUESKYONLY...but I do own Wendy...

Summer rains, you can never predict them. This one had no wind, no driving fury to push it into creature's faces, just the pull of gravity to bring it strait down to the thirsty earth. The grasses bent their stems as their roots soaked up every bit of moisture that was so needed in their part of the world. Evergreen boughs swayed gently back and forth—their needles dripping.

All creatures of the area that weren't in their dens, burrows, caves, or other homes were sheltered among the thick copse of evergreen trees. The copse had grown tall an almost magnificent on its hill; a proud old fortress surrounded by a rolling sea of never ending grasses.

Perched within a thick pine, a young squirrel looked up from pinecone meal when she heard the slow plodding footsteps and heavy breathing of some huge animal. She couldn't see much for all the needles, so she wedged her half-eaten supper under a loose piece of bark and scurried out to the end of the branch. Peeking over a clump of needles, her hazel eyes grew wide at what she saw.

It was the biggest, shaggiest creature she'd ever seen. Red-brown fur covered it's entire body, four huge legs—each as big around as the biggest tree's trunk in the grove—supported it. High shoulder blades sloped down to the back, a long dexterous nose—a trunk—small ears, and a short, tasseled tail. But what was most amazing about the creature were the two great, spiraling tusks that curved down out of its mouth. She realized in a moment what this animal must be: a woolly mammoth. She'd never seen one, but she'd heard plenty of stories from her Grandfather John (most of them wild exaggerations she'd never believed). This one had to be a male—a bull—for his size; but he smelled as though he was young too. Older than her, about 20ish, but still young for his kind.

Wait. There was something wrong about this mammoth, they way he walked...he was limping on his front right, heavily too. His breathing...it wasn't just heavy, it was a pained wheeze. His head hung low and his trunk practically drug the ground. And when the young bull passed underneath her branch, she saw a trail of dark crimson. The mammoth was wounded, and, judging by the blood among the needles on the ground, badly.

The squirrel leaped up to a higher branch and vaulted to the tree across from hers. Scampering from limb to limb, she caught up with the wounded mammoth, and was able to see him from the other side. Reflexively covering her mouth in horror, she gasped at what she saw.

Spears. Human spears stuck out of his bloodied side. Two in his ribs and one that looked very deep in his shoulder. Blood coursed down his right leg, leaving a crimson print on the ground. His horrible wheezing seemed to be forced with every breath.

The young squirrel thought to herself. Something had to be done. She had no clue how she could help. Besides, weren't mammoths supposed to be dangerous? She doubted this one would be having thoughts of squishing her under one of those massive feet.

Impulsive decision won out. A thing her mother had always warned her of. Oh well. This mammoth needed her help.

The squirrel looked back towards the mammoth only to find that he was gone. _What the?_ she thought. How did he just disappear? She looked down and realized she could easily track him. She scampered to the ground and easily followed the crimson trail.

She heard him long before she saw him. A deep moan vibrated the ground under her paws. When she rounded a bunch of rocks, she saw his titanic form, lying motionless on his side in a cave he had found—his side rising and falling with every moan. The three spears stuck up like saplings that had grown out of his ribs and shoulder. He didn't look good at all.

The squirrel dashed to the mammoth's head. "Sir," she whispered into his ear, "Sir, can you hear me?"

The mammoth's right eye slowly opened half way. It was light brown and almost as big as the young squirrel's head. Blurry and unfocused, she allowed him a moment or two to get a proper look at her. He let out a louder moan, as if to say yes.

"Good," the squirrel said. "My name's Wendy, I'm here to help you."

There was a look of shock in the mammoth's eye when she said her name, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Instead, muttered one word in a hoarse, barely audible, voice: "No."

Wendy looked puzzled. "No? What do you mean, no?"

The mammoth closed his eyes and muttered, "No. Don't h-help me. L-Leave me to die."

Wendy studied the bull for a moment, and then a determined look came over her face. She'd help him weather he wanted her to or not! Just see if she didn't! Wendy grabbed the shaft of the first spear shaft she came to. One of the ones in his ribs. She made sure to grip it well with both paws, and then she started pulling. A groan came from the mammoth.

"I thought I told you to scram?!" he growled between gritted teeth.

Wendy dug her hind paws into the mammoth's fur, pulling at the spear shaft with all her might. She didn't breath, she just concentrated all her muscles and will power on getting that horrible thing out. Finally, it began to move. Just the slightest budge, but it gave her the strength to pull harder.

When it unexpectedly came free, Wendy heard the mammoth gasp in pain. She fell to the cave floor, the spear clattering beside her. She lay there, panting.

"I-I don't c-c-care what you s-say. I'm g-gonna' he-he-help you!" Wendy snapped.

"But you're just...just a squirrel," he muttered.

Wendy bared her needle-like teeth. What she hated more than _anything_ was when creatures told you that you couldn't do something just because you were small. She lifted her head and glared at the huge mammal lying across from her. "Well you're just a mammoth!" she spat. "A very defenseless one at that!" Wendy sat up shakily and fixed the mammoth in her fiery gaze. "All my life I've heard stories about mammoths, and I've never actually seen one until now. And I must say, you're a pitiful excuse for your race!"

As the squirrel snapped at the mammoth, she noticed that with every word, his eyes lost their pained look and gained an angry spark. That spark grew into a fire that burned with hatred for the young squirrel. _Good,_ she thought. Now that she had him good and angry, he might find in there a will to live.

"You," she continued, her voice at a yell now, "are just gonna' lay down and quit aren't you!? Just gonna' quit on life!"

Suddenly, his eyes lost their angry glare and gave way to some unbearable wound, not in his bloodied side but somewhere else. He lowered his head let out a shuddering breath. "I have nothing left to live for," he whispered quietly.

Wendy watched him for a moment as he lay there, staring blankly at the cave wall, his eyes dull. The squirrel immediately felt an overwhelming sense of sympathy for the mammoth. She somehow knew that he'd lost more than blood to human spears. Something even more valuable than his will and pride. She scampered over to him and leaned over his massive head. "Look, you can't just die," she began.

His eye swiveled over to look straight at her. "Why?" was his weary inquiry.

Wendy was at loss for words for a moment. "Because...because...you're too young, mammoth!"

It was a moment before he said anything, but when he did, his voice betrayed tears he was trying to hold back. "My...My son was...too young. But he's dead now." The mammoth closed his eyes and a new wave of shudders wracked his body.

Wendy was stunned. "But, but what about your mate! You have to stay alive for her!"

The mammoth opened his eyes and looked up at her again. Wendy could see the endless agony, as though the spears in his side were nothing in comparison. Then she knew that his mate was gone as well.

Wendy clenched her tiny fists. _That changes nothing,_ she thought, _I still have to help him!_ The young squirrel scampered to the next spear in the mammoth's ribs. Wrapping her paws around the shaft, she began heaving at it with all her might. So concentrated was she, that she didn't notice the woolly mammoth moaning in agony. _Just don't stop!_ she told herself. _You just have to keep tugging at this thing. It has to come out! _With that last thought, the spear came free and she was thrown back once again.

Wendy's body quivered from nose to tail as she lay there. Her muscles were twitching so hard she wasn't sure if she could get up. Her back ached like no other and when she raised her forepaws to look at them, she realized that skin was scraped off the pads. She lay back for a moment, waiting for the shaking to stop, and trying to catch her breath.

"Wh-Wh-Why are you...doing this?" she heard the mammoth inquired between painful gasps of air.

Wendy answered with a sharp, "Think about it, fuzzy."

"Just tell me! Why?"

Wendy didn't answer. Instead, she rolled onto her feet and scurried out of the cave as fast as her aching muscles would allow. Before the mammoth could wonder where she had gone to, she had returned. Wendy had a double fist-full of leaves in both paws, and her mouth was full of the same. She instantly sat down and began chewing them, making them into a soft pulp. After that was done, she spread the chewed leaves onto the mammoth's wounds, making sure to get under his thick fur to the skin. The pulp felt cool on the mammoth's gashes; however, he lifted his head to look at the squirrel.

"You still haven't answered my question, bushtail."

In reply, Wendy hopped over to his head and said: "You're really thick, you know. If your mate and son saw you now, what would they think? With you, laying here, just begging death to come, giving up on life! I'll tell you what they'd think. They'd be ashamed of you, mammoth! _That's_ why I have to save you." Then she went back outside of the cave, leaving the mammoth to his thoughts.

Wendy was scampering back towards the cave, one paw holding each end of a leaf containing a load of mud. She hadn't had to travel far, just around the corner, thanks to the recent rain. She suspected that she'd have to make several trips yet. However, that last spear in the mammoth bull's shoulder was worrying her. She'd had trouble pulling out the other two, and they hadn't been near as deep as that one. The young squirrel knew that she'd never get it out.

When she rounded the rocks that marked the entrance of the cave, a shocking sight greeted her. The young mammoth bull had his trunk wrapped around the spear shaft in his shoulder.

Wendy ducked behind a rock and watched. She saw him take a deep breath, and she thought she heard him mutter something, but she couldn't be sure. Then he pulled with all his strength, twisting the spear as he did so in further effort to dislodge it. With every twist, he let out an agonized moan, his body shuddering and twitching. Then, with one last mighty yank, the mammoth pulled the spear free. As it tore loose, he let out a bloodcurdling noise. Somewhere between a bellow and a scream, it made the fur on Wendy's back stand stiff. The mammoth let the spear clatter across the stone and his trunk fall limply to the ground. His body was shaking and trembling violently.

Wendy dashed forward, blood was flowing freely from the wound and it had to be stopped. She regretted that she didn't have any more of the leaves to spread on the wound, but the bleeding in the other two wounds hadn't been near a serious as this one.

She scrambled up onto his shoulder and dumped the mud on the gash. Instantly, the blood flow lessened, the young squirrel breathed a quiet sight of relief as she packed the mud down. After a moment, it had all but entirely stopped. She was confident that it wouldn't start back up again. So, she hopped over to the mammoth's head. His eyes swam with pain as consciousness loosened its grip on the mammoth bull.

"You did it," Wendy whispered into his ear, joy evident in her voice. "You did good, mammoth, you're gonna' live."

He gave a shuddering sigh in response to her delighted words.

"What's your name anyway, mammoth?" she inquired, stroking his cheek.

The mammoth's light brown eyes were becoming more and more unfocused as black curtains began to close on his vision. However, he managed to whisper his reply. "Manfred...," he said, closing his eyes, "my name is Manfred."


End file.
